


You Will Resent Its Absence

by Conversity



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Father Ace, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, War Boys trying to take care of a baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conversity/pseuds/Conversity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to Bartertown, the War Rig crew takes down a Road Warrior and finds more than just supplies in the car. Ace wants to keep the baby and the entire team learns more about their Imperator as Furiosa fights the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Miracle

Driving the Fury Road wasn't always fire, blood, and yells for witness.

Most times, the cars just race alongside the War Rig while the Boys waste time harassing each other, the initial adrenaline of the journey running on empty after an hour of quiet. Some would stretch over the tops of their cars and soak in the heat like lizards sunning themselves, while others poke their heads through the windows and sunroofs to converse with their drivers, topics of discussion varied and lighthearted.

A few shake their shoulders to rid the nervous energy, keeping limber and loose in case of an attack. Malt, one of the newest boys, is glued to his post, hands tight, curled fists around the steel handles of the harpoon gun. The longer they're on road, the more he breaks his stone shell, twisting his head slowly from side to side to watch the others. Ace notices the rookie staring at something, and then sees Morsov hoist his weight over his perch at the back of the tanker and carefully descend the ladder; pausing just a moment before he spring jumps onto the bed of the '39 Plymouth they call Reliant. His weight threw the car's balance and it fishtails to the right, kicking up sand as the driver, newly promoted Matches, tries to shake back into formation.

Sprocket claps Morsov on the back in welcoming and makes room for him on the back ledge, passing his lunch pail over so they can share a small meal of dried snake meat and handfuls of sticky rice. For a while they eat in silence, passing a few sentences back and forth about upgrades for the explosive lances they'll finish when they get back.

Ace returns his attention to the other boys who, unlike Morsov, aren't brave enough or ranked high enough to flit between vehicles. He finds them tracing their bodies with steady fingertips, describing where they're going to put their new tattoos, talks of flames, car parts, and the V8 symbol itself. Others are ripping their pockets open to show what they want to try and trade with during the negotiations at Bartertown. Between them, there isn't much, just trinkets and junk they've scavenged, anything they think might be worth something to someone else. War Boys are taught to be pack rats and some have made quite a living out of salvaging shiny stuffs. He pats his own, full pockets and traces the shapes of what he's brought, but he isn't going to show the others. Ace had seen a few things he wouldn't mind having during the last supply run and he hopes some man will understand the value of his treasures.

The sun glares against his paint and as the mountain ridges level out, sand flat and sugar smooth around them for as far as the eye can see, he lets a small amount of relief settle between his ribs. An attack is near impossible in these parts during high noon and the Boys seem to sense his ease because a few press back to back to doze.

Most Imperators wouldn't tolerate laziness at any level, for good reason, but Furiosa trusts Ace and, while he's there keeping watch, she doesn't mind the Boys relaxing a little. He scans the horizon in two sweeping glances, watching the rocks jut up out of the sand dunes, daring movement. The Rig has a crew of ten and three assist vehicles with a Driver-Lancer pair each, more than enough protection, but Ace still feels tense as they drive the long road. He's been on too many trips that end in a slaughter due to carelessness and he doesn't want another.

Sprocket, his belly full and bare shoulders sun prickled, is snoozing against the back window while Morsov slides onto the hood. He braces his hands on the windshield wipers, throwing a glance to make sure he isn't obstructing the driver's view, and lets his legs swing loose, watching the clear sky pass above him. Ace looks up and does the same, calmed as the cloudless blue mass takes over his vision, filling his eyes as he focuses until all there is sky. He licks his chapped lips as he remembers faintly the taste of liquid blue, the vast reservoirs of water in the before times. So much of it that you could drown. The boys are much too young to have memories like that and Ace wonders what Morsov thinks about when he vacantly loses himself in the sky.

After a while, there's a lull as the winding path turns straight and everyone locks into place for the long haul. There's nothing to see and nothing to do so, as a joke, Matches taps the brakes, jerking Morsov from his day dreaming. Everyone laughs at his tight muscles and the sharp cussing he barks, eyes wild and aware as he sees there's no threat. It's all in good fun but Morsov lives a life as the underdog and takes it personally as he crawls back to the perch, refusing Sprockets' offered hand and waits until the Rig swings close enough to dare a jump. He climbs aboard without help and sits in his basket.

From there, the respite only grows, the crew pitching with the swaying movements of the sands and Ace takes the time to count each of the bald heads, just to make sure they're all where they're supposed to be. He's off by one and sees that Sam wasn't in his perch, but then saw an extra body in Trix's car.

Sam had crawled into the Phoenix's passenger seat and was fiddling with the wiring under the dash, him and Trix bantering back and forth, about what was anyone's guess. He must have crossed a wrong wire because the swerved suddenly off track, her arms braced on the wheel as they pitched in the loose sands. The rest of the crew rouses to watch, trying to judge if they would need to help as she veered and passed wildly in front of the War Rig. Furiosa dodges and slows to give her space and it's not much longer until Trix wrestles control or Sam fixes the mistake, the car falling smoothly back into place.

Inside, Trix is a flurry of anger as she throws a hand at Sam and keeps hitting him until he pulled himself out the back window, curling his knees to his chest sulking on his lancer's perch. Spats between teams weren't uncommon in the slightest but those two were constantly at each other's throats since they paired. Trix hadn't wanted another Lancer since her first, Chev, took a bullet between the eyes from a failed siege on the Motor Rats. She'd driven back to the Citadel with his brains sprayed across the windshield then spent a week scrubbing the Firebird, eyes swollen with her anger and unshed tears.

'You should go down to the Pits tonight.' Ace had suggested once he thought she mourned long enough. Trix, who wasn't violent unless in the heat of Fury Road, had thrown her wrench down, shoved her crew out of her way to the exit, and avoided most everyone the rest of the week. But Ace knew she couldn't go without a Lancer for long.

It was Furiosa who had taken her aside and told her the truth.

'Drivers without Lancers don't get assignments. Which means you won't be on the War Rig crew; you'll be left to the rest of the War Boys.' Trix wouldn't look Furiosa in the eye but she listened and understood. They'd rather bring in a new Lancer than have to cast her out. 'Don't waste your talent because you don't want to replace Chev. You might watch the next one go, and the one after that. You're next Lancer might outlive you.' Trix felt the slick weight in her stomach grow heavier but she nodded and accepted Sam as crew two days later.

Sam was soft by War Boy standards and it was one of the reasons Trix chose him. He was still growing into his gangly legs and weighed maybe one hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet, but his shining achievement was how nonthreatening he was, how he shrunk away from other boys and agreed with almost everything Trix said. Sam was an average Lancer, a very clever Revhead, and was well liked amongst the rest of the crew yet he couldn't understand that his problem with his Driver was that she couldn't let go of his predecessor. So every time he did something different than Chev would, when he misread her commands or overstepped her invisible boundaries, Trix would get inconsolably angry with him. Usually Sam took it in stride and shouldered the reprimands as if he was completely incompetent but Ace could tell he was beginning to push back at Trix when he felt like she was being unfair. Furiosa swears they'll work out the kinks one way or another and she's never been wrong before.

Ace moved up to the cab of the Rig and rapped thrice before his driver opened the hatch.

"Yes?" Furiosa asked, eyes never leaving the endless ribbon of road before them. Bartertown still wasn't in view.

"Trix might kill Sam." He deadpanned but she recognized his humor and her mouth twitched with a half-smile. She usually steered clear of her crew's personal lives but the more missions she took as an Imperator the further she was dragged into this knitted family. Like it or not, these were her pups to look after.

"He'll grow on her." She said after a pause, eyes flashing playfully to him through the rearview window.

"Like a tumor." Ace agreed and her scoff was enough to make him smile. He huffed a short laugh and raised his head to cast a precursory glance at the horizon just as a rogue shadow sizzled in the afternoon heat, like a mirage rising from the sand. Only its distant rev and grind of the engine gave it away and instantly Ace was on his feet, signaling to the rest of the crew. They sprang up like they'd been electrocuted, instantly ready for the war, no matter how small.

The Reliant matched speeds with the Phoenix, both merging side by side in front of the War Rig so Matches and Trix could brush fingers in a good luck sign before they raced to cut the danger before it reached the convoy.

"Must be a Road Warrior! He's alone!" Morsov shouted from behind his binoculars as Ace kept searching the landscape around them, frantic for any other sign of movement. Lone Warriors were hardly an unthinkable concept, but too often in their world there was bait and then the hook. The rest of the boys watched, poised to strike, as Sam held onto the roof handles, and crouched low, molding himself as if to melt into the vehicle. His goggles were suctioned to his face so hard they made his eyes feel dry, achy, and the air was gritty with sand but he felt more alive now than he ever remembers being. So alive that he isn't afraid when he raises himself up, a lance tight in his grip, and hits his head once, hard, on the sunroof. Trix responds by banking to the right quickly, hiding the Reliant from view as they close in, head on to what Ace thinks is a souped up Fairlane. Unless the driver has nothing short of a rocket launcher, they don't stand a chance.

Furiosa pulls the chord hanging from her left and the diesel roars once, deep and low, and the signal is answered as Trix and Matches flank the foreign car, Lancers braced for the final maneuver. The other driver pulls a long muzzled gun and shoots at Trix, the windshield eating the bullet, and she wrenches the wheel to knock him into the Reliant's path. The spiked hubcaps pop the front tire and the Fairlane flips, hood flying apart as the driver spills out the door. Sprocket jumps from the back of the Reliant and pulls his knife out, eyes wild from beneath the shiny black oil of his forehead. But the driver doesn't move, arms twisted behind him like faulty wiring, his head buried in the sand. Trix pulls alongside his ride and Sam jumps out to inspect the remains. One tire blow, the rest patched shoddily. The engine looks fried but surely someone back home can do something with it.

"Looks salvageable." Ace tells Furiosa after Morsov gave him a thumbs up, eyes still trained behind the binoculars, and she slows the Rig, watching in her rearview as the boys climbs down to inspect the damage.

Morsov tugs on the body until it rolls over and finds it's a woman. Her jaw is dislocated, making her face gaunt and teeth bared, only the whites of her eyes showing with the way her bodies lies in the sand. She's wrapped in rags, her hair tangled in knots, and the boys leave her corpse alone once they see she doesn't have anything on her worth taking. Instead, they all crowd around her car, hands smoothing along the side panels and talking about what they'd use its spare parts for if they got the chance.

The insides aren't much to look at, it seemed like she believed in traveling light. Or, Ace thought, like she hadn't thought to be out long. He again turned his head to check their surroundings. A woman alone in a car with no supplies was out of the ordinary. But the boys stripped what they could and hauled some of the goods back to the cars while the rest was stacked in the Rig. Ace gave orders about what should go where and told Morsov to start siphoning the Fairlane's gas for the pursuit vehicles.

"Whatever is left, put in gas cans."

"Heard."

As everyone scurried like ants between cars, Ace counted the boys and recounted again just to be sure.

"Look at this!" A voice, must have been Malik from the sound of his accent, said and all the boys dropped their assignment to crowd around.

And there, wrapped in canvas and swinging from a tight knit hammock in the back of the car, was a squirming baby.

"Well glory me." Ace whispered when he saw, more surprised than he ever remembers being. It isn't crying, just waving its fists weakly, face scrunched and red, as the boys crowd around its little nest.

"How?"

"Fuckin' miracle, that is." Morsov points out and Ace nods, taking in its tiny fingers, the dark curls of its hair. "Can we keep it?"

"No." Everyone turns at the answer and looks at Furiosa as if she had appeared from thin air. She doesn't say another word on the subject, just hooks her thumb back at the Rig and the boys get the message, all but Ace, who keeps looking at the bundle as if it was the last water on Earth.

"Ace." The warning only half as effective since she's never had to single him out before. "We're running late." Furiosa reminds, this time to appealing to his sensible nature, and tries not to let surprise show on her face when Ace tucks his hands underneath the squirming child and picks it up from the hammock.

"She survived." Is all he says, his fingers touching at her slight eye eyebrows and ears. There's something in the baby's face, the plump cheeks, the rounded eyes, the little pink bow tied in its hair that tells Ace that this is a girl, and she is the most innocent thing he had ever held, after the world had fallen.

He stands with her and then she begins to cry, the sun bright and hot on her pale skin as he dusts off his memory and vaguely tries to fit her in his arms like how he was once taught. Ace looks from her to Furiosa, who is glaring at him from beneath her goggles, and he finds himself saying, "We can't leave her here."

"She can't go back to the Citadel." Furiosa answers, the steel in her voice blistering, nonnegotiable. Ace just presses the crying baby into his shoulder, lets the little hands grab at him, and nods to his Imperator as if making a deal.

The entire walk back to the rig, he feels her eyes on him, cold and angry at being overruled but not sure how to challenge him on it, and he's careful as he climbs into the cabin of the Rig, settling the bundle to lie in his lap.

Furiosa's unasked questions make the air thick but Ace feels light as he holds the child and stops her crying by dipping his finger into a canteen of Mother's Milk and letting her suckle.

"Unbelievable." Furiosa sighs as she wrenches the stick shift into gear and presses the gas, the Rig lurching forward like a beast biting at the reins.

"Isn't it though?" Ace answers in awe, smiling more than Furiosa has ever seen him, and if it wasn't for the ache acidly boiling in her chest, she'd have found it pleasant. But looking at the baby and remembering her own girl child, a few years ago, taken from her, the cries still fresh in her mind, arms empty and cold, Furiosa feels sick and focuses instead on the road before her and the awful way Ace will feel when he too has to give this baby up.


	2. What Once Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace and Furiosa spend the first night in the Rig with the baby and the War Boys begin their fun in Bartertown.

The sun was orange and swollen with dusk, setting slowly as the Rig turned against its color and continued down a black top road, the spinal cord of a lost civilization. There hadn't been any more run-ins since that afternoon, the boys restless as they woke from their naps and fished snacks out of their pockets to share. A few crawled up, one at a time, to the cab of the Rig and peeked through the back window, trying to catch a glimpse of the baby they could often hear crying over the roar of the engines. Morsov had reported that Ace was coddling the child and singing songs lowly to her, the kind that War Pups liked to hear when they were sleepy or sick, but he didn't tell the others how soft The Ace had looked as he held her. Furiosa would hear their metallic footsteps, the way their weight dented the cargo bay when they walked, and glared at them through the rearview mirror, the kind of look that meant, 'Don't you dare say a word.'

The Cab was off limits to everyone except her second in command, which was almost always the Ace, but on long rides like this, where the boys would end up in the dark, she allowed some of them to crowd in the back seat to keep out of the cold. The boys arm wrestled in order to see who won the honor of sleeping in the Rig and the losers were forced to fan out to other cars, curling wherever there was room.

"You're a cheating, rusty bastard!" Malik swore as he lost to Morsov, "You always get to ride in the back!"

"Sorry, V8 smiles upon me again." He crossed his fingers and bowed his head reverently, not trying to hide the smirk on his face. Malik suppressed the reflex of spitting in his face as Morsov rose to his full height and made his way with the three other boys who had won. The fatigue of the day showed slightly on his shoulders but he knew Morsov would overpower him if he challenged. Malik instead whistled for Trix to swerve closer and jumped once the Firebird was in range, fitting through the sunroof and butting heads with Sam so they could share the passenger seat.

Inside the Rig, Morsov, Fuskie, Hatch, and Splinter were crowding in and trying to get comfortable, eyeing Furiosa who hadn't acknowledged them except for sliding the sunroof open to let them in. Usually she would at least nod in their direction or start giving the rules on how to behave in Bartertown. She was one of the only Imperators who would let them run wild once they unhitched the goods and waited for the negotiations, expecting them to stay together and keep out of trouble.

But tonight, the only sound was the grumbling engine, a squeaky belt that was probably driving Furiosa insane, and the whimpers of the little thing in Ace's arms.

"I thought you said we wasn't gonna keep it?" Fuskie asked after he settled in the middle, his legs draped over Morsov.

"We aren't." Furiosa ground out, eyes still locked ahead, hands tight on the steering wheel as the boys looked at each other and then to Ace. Splinter leaned forward, trying to peer over The Ace's shoulder to get a good look, and couldn't believe his eyes. The thing was smaller than he'd ever seen a person be, her eyes pale with tears, fingers fragile like lizard tails. As she reached for Ace, he ran his callused thumb against her palm and she gave a little fit of giggles that made Splinter's chest feel warm.

He was confused on how something that small could ever grow to be like them, strong and tall and invincible, but that's how they all started. The details were hazy but they knew the basics. The Men bred chosen Wives. The Wives grew large and soft with the baby and sometime after there were little War Pups. Pups were usually knee-high when they joined the ranks, and for something so tiny to fit in two hands was unthinkable.

"It's so itty bitty though. Nobody would know. We could feed it Mother's Milk, teach it to be a War Boy."

"She's not staying, that's final. The Citadel is no place for a girl-child." Furiosa bit out and this time she flashed her eyes back at Splinter to drive the point home. He shrunk back into his seat and found Hatch already sleeping with his head on Fuskie's shoulder. Splinter looked at Morsov as if to ask him to pitch in but he didn't, just leaned back into the worn seat and shut his eyes.

Ace was careful as he put his feet up on the dashboard and made a cradle for the baby, the movement of the Rig rocking her to sleep in his lap. He couldn't take his eyes from her; too afraid to break the connection he felt since the moment he lifted her effortlessly into his grasp. She had cried most of the ride; only calming when he fed her the Mother's Milk and when he cleaned her with a rag, wrapping her in a loose shawl they kept for tying wounds. As fussy as she was though, Ace couldn't stop smiling at how clean and beautiful she was, no scars, no lumps. A full-life if he had ever seen one.

"I don't know why you're doing this to yourself." Came Furiosa's voice, soft now in the dark, careful of the Boys sleeping behind them. "You know we can't keep her. I won't let you take her back to the Citadel."

Ace wasn't stupid, he knew what would happen. As pure she was…it wouldn't last long. But Ace, who had thrown two Imperator's under the wheels in his long run as a War Boy, who fought brutally to keep his position as teacher of the Pups so no one cruel could get their hands on them, the same Ace who had earned his title by taking out a fleet of scavengers, single handedly, surviving a fire fight that had killed the other twelve in the crew, couldn't let her go. The same Ace who remembers his own daughter in the before time and how she too had been this small and defenseless. He couldn't think to leave her out in the heat, crying for a mother who laid misshapen and twisted for the buzzards to pick at.

"I remember another girl I found, crying and alone, and I picked her up too, some seven thousand days ago." His eyes leave the baby and he faces Furiosa, trying to read her in the pale moonlight. "I'd like to think she's better for it."

She's speechless as she searches past the windshield, trying to find something out in the Plains of Silence, words that will get Ace to see reason. After losing everything, you learn to be thankful for what you have and come to terms with losing it at any time. Furiosa worked daily not to get attached to anything and damn Ace for daring to have this.

"Let me drive." He says, so unbidden that Furiosa isn't sure how long they'd been silent, only the moon's position in the sky telling the time. "You've been sitting too long, you're stiff." And yeah, she is starting to feel the cramp in her fingers, the tight weight in her back. Letting Ace drive should feel like a change in the power scheme of the crew but she logically negates that him driving lets her rest, strengthen up for the negotiations tomorrow morning.

She slows the Rig and watches as Ace unfolds himself from the seat, careful as he moves the sleeping child. Furiosa climbs down the steps and meets him by the grill, passing a glance at the bundle and feels foolish for thinking he had simply wanted her to sleep. Ace holds the babe out as if in offering and something bitter in Furiosa wants to cuss him for pulling this stunt. Instead, she treats this with the mentality of his training exercises: get it over with and learn something if possible.

She's never held a baby before, her own child pushed from her body and into the arms of Miss Giddy, who had wept with joy and sadness. The babe had been healthy and female. But Ace seems to be working from muscle memory as he passes the bundle over, moving her elbow to fit the child and whispering reassuringly, "Yes, just like that. Mind the head."

The wind outside the Rig makes the girl wiggle into the warmth that she feels near her new carrier. Furiosa is washed with a protective wave, one that she's felt before, often in fact, when she watches her crew wrestle with other teams in the Pits, when the older boys bully the Pups, when other Imperators try to bargain Ace to join their squad, but this time she gives the feeling an action and brings the girl to her chest, feeling the soft curls on her cheek. She maneuvers into the passenger side without waking the babe and watches Ace start the Rig, easing the gas so as not to jolt forward. That's the one issue of loving something out here; you go out of your way to accommodate it.

She ignores the sly smile that she knows Ace is giving her as she kicks off her boots and presses the arches of her bare feet against the dash, tenderly curling around the swaddled baby. Furiosa hates herself for this, for soaking in the weight of her, the soft way she clutches at her sheer bodice, mouthing at her for milk that had dried thousands of days ago. Furiosa feels a well of tears open in her but she only lets them wet her eyes before she breaths deeply, swallowing their sting. She's glad that War Boys are heavy sleepers and Ace keeps his eyes on the road, giving her as much privacy as one is allowed in these parts. It's not much, but something about this little girl, this newly planted seed, is terribly saddening. Furiosa knows she will either wilt or survive in spite of everything, embittered by this world. What future is there for children to inherit? There is nothing in the world that is worth giving to something this precious, which will have to fight to earn everything and become cynical for it. How dare anyone want to bring a child into this world they've made.

\-----------------------------------------------------

For appearances, Furiosa and Ace trade seats a few miles before they enter Bartertown, where the sands are soft and sucking beneath their feet. The baby girl didn't sleep the entire night through but she's awake now, arms waving around as Ace washes her again and wraps more clean rags around her. He knows from the strong, set shoulders that Furiosa is determined not to let the babe make her soft, something the Boys on her crew have never seen before, a mother with a child, but Ace doesn't think they'd perceive her as soft for the demonstration. From the way they keep glancing at the child, asking questions like, 'Must she always cry?' 'Why do you gotta carry her everywhere? She can't walk? Mediocre.' and 'What are we gonna do with her if we can't keep her?' Ace has a hunch that they feel it too, the pull to take care of something. In their lives, they grow up in litters, with other Pups around them, and to see something so defenseless all by itself makes them protective.

Trix uses her dagger to shear off the cuffs of her pants and rigs up a sling to keep the child in, knotting the fabric up and around Morsov's shoulder so his hands can be free to work. And even though she's secure and comfortable against the heat of him, Morsov often finds himself cradling her weight, almost afraid to drop her, in case she shatters like a light bulb. The girl-child likes when he bounces from foot to foot, keeping her quiet as they decouple the tanker of water and start unloading the wheels of cheeses, produce, and bean crates.

Bartertown is as busy as ever, throngs of people fanning out in overflowing lines, but the crew is used to the mayhem and chaos. A man with a feathered headdress meets with Furiosa to assure that the goods are what they had agreed upon and when the trade is finished, they spit in their palms before clenching hands, sealing the deal.

The boys get antsy as they finish their jobs, waiting as patiently as shaken bees for Furiosa to give them the go ahead. Bartertown trades give them half a day to wander around the compound and with the sun only heating their backs and shoulders, they have enough time to cause a ruckus, really enjoy the attractions away from the Citadel.

"Go." She says, returning to gas the Rig for their departure, and they all race off like a pistol had been shot. Morsov clutches the little girl to him and runs slower, eyes more on her than the dusty road ahead of them. Furiosa might insist that they aren't keeping her but she's yet to cast her out and her eyes almost always glance her way while they'd been working.

"Water! Get ya some water right here!" A man yells as he pedals a container of brackish liquid. The sounds of Bartertown are a medley of selling wares and enticing customers, animals of all shapes and species tied up at the auction posts, some that Morsov has never seen before, some humans up on display in their ragged garments and shiny jewels, slaves for sale. He didn't like to linger there, where the slaves were hanging their heads, dull eyes vacant when they did look up. How awful it must be to have no kind of freedom, to not belong anywhere unless someone paid. Again he thanked V8 for his good fortune, to be raised from the Wastes as a Buzzard child and given a second chance as a War Boy.

"Morsov!" Sprocket waved over to him, the group of Boys circled near the metal skeleton of the Thunderdome. "We was about to trade. You comin?" The others were already scanning the booths and roped areas, eyes glittering with the lust for something new, and Morsov grinned wildly.


	3. Barter For My Concious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew sifts through Bartertown, Sam and Trix try to find a stable ground, and Ace comes to terms with the fact that they can't keep the baby girl.

There was no time wasted in diving right into the swells of wanderers crowding the tables of wares. Each War Boy had memorized the content of their pockets so as not to showcase all of their tradeables. When they found something too shine to pass up, they’d pull forth what they thought was fair until the trade was struck or backed down from the price.  


Malik handed over four strips of clean, dyed cloth to a woman with a mane of sun bleached hair in exchange for a shard of glass outlined in plastic. He held it by the handle to inspect his reflection and smiled. There was one crack, stretched like a crooked grin and it was small enough to fit on his bike’s handlebar, a good trade. The woman seemed to agree as she began to tie her hair in large poofs, jagged teeth peeking from behind her curled lips.  


Matches followed Trix and Sam around as they gave him his first tour of the infamous Bartertown and found that they were the center of attention. Runs to Gastown and the Bullet Farm were quick and there were other War Boys to meet and talk to, catch up with, but here, they were like ghosts of the dead, all of the vagabonds parting the streets to let them through. There was a wary eye set on them as the War Boys wandered, their white warrior paint and axel grease making people stare. It didn’t help that the whispers of Joe’s Warriors and their penance for collective chaos preceded them.  


“Pretty trinkets for a pretty lady!” A man with a fingerless hand waved at Trix, his skin so tanned that it folded like leather when he moved. “Very good deal, swears it.”  
But Trix walked by without a word, eyes caught instead on the glinting steel of a cross bow two vendors over.  


“Look at this glorious thing.” Matches breathed, hands on his knees as he hunched to get a closer inspection. The weapon looked like something an Imperator would have, reflecting his face in the polished metal as he grinned. Trix shrugged noncommittedly, not letting her interest show on her face, and instead set her eyes on a cluster of serrated arrows.  


“Likes what you sees, Miss?” The voice comes like a distorted vibration from a metal contraption the woman holds to her throat when she opens her lips. She’s tall, thickly built in a way that Trix wishes her muscles would fill out, and she’s missing only one of her breasts. That fact lifts Trix’s eyebrows in surprise and the woman stares her down, silently questioning her in return.  


“How much for the bow?” Trix finally asks before any other conversation can start and looks down at the weapon instead of at the woman.  


Sam straightens his shoulders when the woman eyes Trix, lingering on her bald head, twin scars on her flat chest, and then turns those cool eyes to him.  


“For a fellow Amazonian, I give discount. You tell me your greatest story of war and you can have it. A worthy weapon for a worthy woman.”  


There was a stillness then that surrounded the wood table but Trix licked her scarred lips and began her story, one that Sam had never heard Trix tell in those calm nights at the Citadel when pairs confessed things in order to strengthen their bonds, or the yelling, chest puffing way War Boys would gloat over dinner, remembering their great deeds done in the name of V8 as they try and outdo each other, Witnessing again.  


“It was supposed to be a routine run but the Motor Rats had moved their territory lines and we were trapped. My lancer Chev told me to leave it but I wanted…” Her voice went hard, like how a beetle collects itself beneath its shell when touched, and caught the woman’s eye as she told the rest.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------  


Ace had tried to keep a look out for which ways all the Boys went but they had scattered like wolves on the hunt. They knew to be back to the Rig by the time the sun was straight up in the sky and nobody had been lost on a run yet.  


He wove between the booths and eyed the wares from behind his goggles, knowing the power he exuded with his height and stern features. Children who were running underfoot balked openly at his lumps and pointed as they whispered to each other, mothers grabbing the hands of their offspring, leading them away from his path. Ace frowned deeper at that because, back at the Citadel, the Pups all ran to him, tugging on his arms and jabbering away about what they’d done and wanted to do, what their bigger brothers had shown them, and little stories they’d make up as they went. Their little fingers would try and flatten the wrinkles of his face and squeeze at the sore lumps of his neck as they questioned why he looked so old. To some War Boys, to have lived so long meant he had failed V8 and, in turn, Valhalla was closed to him. To the Pups he was as immortal as they came. But here, to the diseased and starving wretched who wandered here, his half-life status made him a pariah.  


“Morsov!” He scolded when he turned and caught sight of the boy holding a live lizard above the wee child’s head, the baby pawing up at the wiggling thing. They were surrounded by Wasteland women, some old and haggard in their rags, others clean and unscathed, bearing the marks of freed slaves, their brands newly shaved off, but all were reaching for the child, cooing and eyeing her in a way that Ace found almost predatory. The women scattered away as he jogged over to Morsov, the lines of his ire lost in the blackened grease.  


“Was just playin’ with her.” He sulked as Ace snatched the lizard from him and then began to unwind the knot of his sling. “Wait, no, I can do it.”  


“Give her to me.” It wasn’t in Morsov’s nature to disobey a tone that stiff so he bowed his head and drew the fabric over, handing the child to Ace’s sure hands. She didn’t fuss, too caught up with grabbing for the bands of Ace’s goggles, and Morsov helped fasten her in, loosening the strap to fit Ace’s bulk.  


Morsov snatched the lizard back and let it scurry across his hand before tightening his fingers around its smooth body and dropping it head first in his mouth. Ace scowled at the deplorable table manners when Morsov slurped the tail between his lips and swallowed.  


“You don’t show her off, you hear me? Bound to be stolen away if you keep that up. Besides, she’s much too small to be eating like that. Got a couple hundred days before her puppy teeth come in.” He fit her head into his palm and swiped at her hair with his callused thumb, soothing her.  


“What are we gonna call her?”  


Ace paused, knowing his answer would make this decision definitive. Names were communal, something you were given by the others or earned after battle. Some boys started off with soft names and received newer ones later on. Some grew into their names, and some never lived long enough for the name to matter. Giving something as important as a moniker to this little girl meant keeping her, meant he was going against Imperator orders.  


“Off with you.” Ace said instead, waving Morsov toward the mob of vendors behind him. “Go be trouble somewhere else.”  


Morsov made a face, his jaw stiff as he grits his teeth, but didn’t say anything else in departure. There was an odd, unbalanced weight now, without the baby pulling him forward, and every so often he caught his hand reaching up to cradle her, only finding empty air.  
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The cross bow is almost weightless in Trix’s hand, fitting easily against the calluses of her palm, and she too feels light. Telling the story was like aqua-cola, once the gate had been opened, the words rushed forward to quench a thirst in her she had forgotten until the first sip. The Amazonian must have been parched too, because she drank each word, her expression softening under the silver scars of her tanned face.  


Beside Trix, Matches and Sam were unusually quiet, the youngest one too caught up in the glitter of junk at a vendor’s table, while Trix’s Lancer kept sliding his eyes over to her, pensive and worried. She could read the weakness on him, almost smell it for how strong it was, and it stirred something hot and angry in her. Loosing Chev had been the first personal blow she’d experienced but that was something she’d carry alone.  


“Stop staring,” Trix growled, and when Sam turned to her, trying to act surprised, she popped him in the chin. “I’m serious, quit it!”  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He countered weakly, hands drawn up against another attack, “I just never heard the story till now. Never heard you witness him before.”  


“Cause there was nothin’ shine about the way he went.” Her fists are clenched, white knuckled, and a wire in her hoped Sam would say another stupid thing and trip it, setting her off. But Sam sensed the boundary and stepped back, giving her space. He knows she’s not above beating him senseless here in the middle of a crowd, no matter what Furiosa had said about behaving.  


There’s a din of haggling and arguing around them, making the air hotter, and yet Trix is finding herself wishing that Sam would press the issue, would ask tempting questions so she could filter these emotions out, release the rest of their poison.  


“’M sorry,” Sam says after they’ve made the circuit around the town, coming back to where the Rig is parked, flanked by the pursuit cars. “Sorry about how it happened and for not being like him.”  


Trix suddenly can’t gather the words she wants to spit, mostly because she hadn’t expected him to say that. Instead, she shrugs, scratches at the chapped, stapled skin of her missing breasts, and ducks into the cool shade of her vehicle. “Get bent.”  


Matches, who had been following at their heels, uneasy to say anything that might slice the tension, took the command and peeled out, heading back toward the last seller who had satchels and leathered wear hanging from a line. Sam stayed, even though it felt wrong to stand over her, disobeying. He watches as she tries to look busy, her hand nervously picking at her staples, eyes searing a hole in her steering wheel.  


The click of steel toed boots catches his attention, makes him turn, and he sees Ace approaching, chest covered in the sling, the baby asleep.  


“I’d say you got bout an hour before noon,” Ace says as he shields his eyes and looks skyward, judging the time. Sam knows when he’s being told to leave and takes the subtle hint, turning on his heel and walks away, eyes on the ground, counting his steps.  


They’re alone then and something in the way he shifts his weight, no doubt because of the babe, makes Trix feel like she’s in trouble.  


“You know, he’s trying.” Ace raises his chin as Trix slides over to the passenger seat so he can settle behind the wheel. He sighs then, a hand cradling the tiny pup’s head, and Trix finds she can’t stop staring.  


Something in her clenches and the fact that she can’t place the feeling and why it makes bile sting the back of her throat upsets her more than anything. Ace must sense it in her though, that’s why they call him the Ace, and he grabs her hand, guides her to the dark tufts of hair poking out of the sling. It’s impossibly soft, so much so that she keeps swirling her fingers through the strands, mesmerized. The thing in her that’s distraught seems to quell as the baby coos in its sleep, and her stomach coils tighter. It makes her angry, that something this small and helpless lives while hardened warriors die out on the roads all the time.  


“Furiosa said we can’t keep it,” Trix acidly bites, snatching her hand back as she curled her legs to her chest and leaned against the door.  


Ace doesn’t say anything, but she catches him give her a lopsided frown, its meaning not lost in her peripheral. It was the kind of look that he gave other Imperators when they tried to give him orders, or when War Boys challenged Furiosa in the Pits. It meant that there were two options: what you wanted and what was going to happen. Usually Ace knew the second wasn’t going to coincide with the first.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just a drabble to get some War Boy culture and have a deeper look into the V8 culture and then BOOM, there was a baby and I can't wait to tell this story. :)  
> Its a work in progress, so please tell me anything that you'd like to see in this story. I'd love more ideas to put in.


End file.
